Fic: The Unquiet Affair of Rachel Grey and Nathaniel Essex (8/10), Rated MA
Title: The Unquiet Affair of Rachel Grey and Nathaniel Essex, Chapter 8.
Author: Sionnain
'Verse: 616, though occurs before current Uncanny arc and will obviously be AU.
Pairing: Rachel Grey/Nathaniel Essex (Rachel/Sinister)
Rating: MA
Warning: Naughtiness in this chapter, but there are no warnings.
Summary: In order to save her family and friends from Sinister's machinations, Rachel Grey decides to do something daring and agrees to stay with him for a month's time, in the hopes he'll finally leave her and her family alone for good.
AN: Many thanks to Resolute for the beta, and Willowaus for cheerleading me through :)
To read from the beginning: Chapter 1. (Includes brief background on the characters if you'd like to read but are unsure who the heck these people are!)
Chapter 8
"Ah, it's an ill conscience that's such an enemy to rest! Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed in every step of it!"--Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Chapter 8.
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"Why did the Phoenix want me? For the host? Do you have any idea?"
Sinister looked up from his notes, across from where Rachel sat on her usual perch in his laboratory; the metal table. "I assume initially it was because you are a descendant of the original host."
"Initially?" Rachel kicked her heels against the metal table. Her back was healing but it was still a little sore. He'd whipped her hard enough with the belt buckle that it had bruised the muscle beneath, and the occasional twinge was relaxing. "What do you mean by that?"
"You are extraordinarily powerful, Rachel. I would assume that the being was pleased by your other attributes."
Rachel was startled at that. "Yeah? Like what?"
He smiled. "Fishing for compliments, are we?"
"Sinister, I am here so you can study me, remember? I just want to know," she said defensively, raking a hand through her hair. And so maybe I don't feel so worthless when I compare myself to my mother.
"The Phoenix, as I have figured it, is attracted to you for your genetic link to your mother, certainly. And your potential, I would imagine."
"My...potential? Isn't that the same as my powers?"
Sinister shook his head and rose from where he was seated. "No. You have an incredible amount of untapped power that, quite frankly, you are not using. On the one hand, you are afraid of your own abilities, and on the other, they are often uncontrollable and do not behave as you would wish." At her glare, he gave a Gallic shrug. "You did ask."
"So the Phoenix likes me because I'm unstable?"
"Where there is instability, there is the potential for stability," Sinister responded. "And you have quite the survival instinct, as we've discussed. You are willing to do what must be done to ensure your own survival. I assume the Phoenix finds this an attractive quality for its host."
Something about that sounded like an insult. "So I'm selfish, a little wacky, and powerful. Wow. Gee, I can sure see why I'm such a perfect package."
"No. You do not see that at all." He laughed. "You think the Phoenix amplifies your powers, gives you control. Therefore you give it more attention, allow it to surface more, feed it energy. It is a symbiotic relationship. That means--"
"I took biology, thanks," Rachel interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And my mother knew how to hold it at bay. So if I could learn how to control my powers, then I could keep the Phoenix from consuming me. Or whatever it wants."
"Theoretically, yes."
Rachel thought about that. "I...after we....after you hurt me. I tend to be able to use it better, with more control. My TK, at least."
Sinister nodded. "Yes, I have noticed that. And your telepathy, have you noticed it was stronger as well?"
She thought about that, about how she was able to pick up things from him. "I don't know. You block your thoughts from me a lot, so I don't know if when I catch something, it's something you wanted me to catch and that's the only reason you're letting me see it at all."
Infuriatingly, he didn't clarify that. "Then what is the conclusion you have drawn?"
"Well, Professor Essex, I'd say that if I can control myself, then my powers don't go all wonky. Sound about right?"
"I am unsure as to the exact meaning of wonky, but I shall use the context clues and say, yes, I believe that sounds correct. Your powers are unstable because you do not trust yourself. You do not trust yourself, because you think you are worthless, are filled with anger, and therefore can hardly concentrate on anything besides your own inner turmoil." He was standing directly in front of her now. "Does that sound about right?"
"Yeah." Rachel gave him an unfriendly look. "So what do I do about it? Slam my hand in a door every time I need to use my powers?"
"That would not work. Your masochistic tendencies notwithstanding, you have a psychological need for punishment. Therefore, you only seem to find that center of calm when such punishment is administered by an outside source, to the extent which you feel you are suitably chastised."
"What, so you're a mad psychologist now, too?" she groused, looking away from him, feeling ashamed at how closely his little spiel mirrored what she was feeling.
"Are you honestly going to tell me that I am wrong, Rachel?"
Rachel looked back at him and slowly shook her head. "No. I guess I'm not. Are we done?" She could feel the familiar worthlessness swirl in the pit of her stomach. See, you're a freak and you'll never be good enough--
Sinister grabbed her hair, hard, and pulled. "Stop that. I am trying to have a discussion with you and I do not have time for this mantra of self-pity by which you are so easily distracted." He slapped the side of her face.
Rachel's head snapped back, then she used her powers to force him back and away from her, flipping the metal table over and pinning him back against the wall while she leaped gracefully to the side.
Sinister clapped appreciatively. "Case in point." He returned the table to its proper position and re-arranged the items she'd dislodged when she'd moved it. Rachel stayed where she was, hating him that he'd been right. A few weeks ago, that little maneuver may or may not have worked. Now, she hadn't even thought about whether it would or not.
"So what do I do about it? Hire someone to whip me when I come home at night?" Rachel laughed bitterly. "That'll go over well."
"I am not certain. You shall either have to find someone capable of hurting you as you require, or research alternate methods of exorcising all that anger and pent-up guilt until it no longer troubles you."
Rachel really couldn't figure out what those methods might be, but that's what the Internet was for, right? "And then what?" Rachel looked at him warily. "Then the Phoenix decides I'm ripe to be some destroyer of worlds?"
"Then perhaps you will learn to use the Phoenix force, instead of being used by it. You cannot control it if you cannot control yourself."
Rachel felt something stir in her, that burning-hot essence. "I think...maybe..." she swayed on her feet, nearly pitching forward. She felt herself levitating off of the floor, toes brushing the ground. Her eyes started to burn, and the world drowned in white.
"Your time grows shorter, Essex," the being said in its clarion voice, loud and resonant in the small confines of the laboratory.
"Yes, I am aware of that," Sinister responded carefully.
"You would teach her control of me, but I would have control of her."
"I am sure you would," Sinister murmured. "Rachel, can you hear me?"
Deep within the well of power where she waited, momentarily trumped by the other within, Rachel stirred. She could hear him fine, she just couldn't respond.
The Phoenix laughed. "It matters not what my host wishes for, Essex. If it is not my desire, she will not have it."
"I see. Fascinating. And what is it you want from her?"
Somewhere in the background of her mind, where Rachel was trapped, she noted that Essex was taking notes. It figured.
"A host. A place in which to dwell. You know these things, they are not revelations to you. Have you worked out the riddle from when we last spoke?"
"There was a riddle?"
If Rachel didn't know Sinister to be rather humorless, she would have thought that maybe he was joking. The Phoenix was displeased, and the entire laboratory seemed to glow with unearthly light. "Do not speak lightly to me, Essex. Your powers are infinitesimal compared to mine."
"I am quite aware of that, I assure you. Though I speak truthfully--I did not know there was a riddle I was to work out."
"You lie to yourself remarkably well. I shall leave you to ponder these mysteries, but be warned, you will not emerge unscathed from what you have wrought, here."
"You speak of the gift of Apocalypse that Rachel shall lay waste? Am I to assume she is to kill me?"
Rachel felt herself pushing forth as the Phoenix began to fade. "No. That is not the death of which I speak. You shall know it, when it comes to pass, and his legacy is broken." The Phoenix faded and Rachel slumped forward, catching herself on the table he'd righted. She looked at him warily. "I don't know what it means. Before you ask."
"I did not think that you did," he said simply, then turned. "Perhaps you should go amuse yourself. I have work to do."
Rachel didn't know why his abrupt dismissal stung, but it did. She paused for a moment on her way out, stopping with her hand on the door. "I won't kill you. It's not my way." And she didn't want him dead, though God only knew why she didn't. With that, she went back upstairs and headed to the library. It was time to find another book to read.
* * *
He was quiet during dinner, and while that wasn't unusual--he was hardly loquacious--there was something a bit...off...about him.
Rachel toyed with her food and wondered if she should ask him what was wrong. She didn't want to pry, really, but his behavior was making her nervous. A few times already she'd looked up and he'd been perfectly still, staring at her. Finally she'd demanded what it was he wanted. He'd blinked in surprise and told her he hadn't been looking at her at all. Rachel had muttered something about how annoying his pupil-less eyes were and gone back to her dinner.
She was a bit disturbed herself. What had the Phoenix meant about Apocalypse's legacy to Sinister? Rachel realized that her time here was running out--she had little less than a week left, if she was counting it right--and if something was going to go down, she wanted to know about it. "Do you--I mean, have you found out anything I should know? Like do I have some kind of genetic disease or something?"
"No. You are perfectly healthy."
Okay. So that conversation topic wasn't going to work. "Are you saving up some really awful genetic test for the last day or something?"
"No."
Rachel took a drink of her water and tried not to glare at him. Why did she really want to make small talk with him anyway? There was just something about his silence that was vaguely disapproving, and it was driving her mad. "Did I piss you off or something?"
"Not especially."
She waited for him to say something else, but he went back to staring at...whatever it was he was staring at. His mental shields were locked tight. Rachel threw her hands in the air. "Do you know how to have a conversation?"
"Was there something you wished to discuss?"
Frustrated, she glared across the table at him. "Sometimes you seem like a person. You know, the kind that has conversations with people at dinner, the kind who doesn't stare off into space and ignore the other person who's with him completely. It's like eating with a statue."
"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you." His food was mostly untouched on his plate. Rachel wondered what kind of things bothered a man like Sinister enough to make him lose his appetite.
"Damn it, Nathaniel," Rachel snapped, slamming her palm on the desk. "I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Can we not just pretend to be normal for thirty minutes and talk about something that isn't my bloodline or your being evil?"
"What did you call me?"
Startled by his icy tone, she stared at him. "What, Nathaniel? It's your name, isn't it?"
"It was, yes." His eyes narrowed. "I haven't used it as anything other than an alias for years."
"Well, it's still your name. I mean, I go by Rachel Grey now, though Summers is really my last name. So if someone called me that, I wouldn't get all creepy." She forked up a bite of her dinner, glad they were at least talking, even though he seemed rather angry.
"Do you wish for me to hit you again? If so, you do not have to make me angry. You only have to ask."
"I don't want you to hit me again," Rachel said slowly, thinking maybe it would have been better if they'd just stayed quiet.
"What is it you want, then?"
"What is it you want?" Rachel pointed her knife at him. "Really. Seriously. There has to be something."
"Apocalypse saw to it that I have no emotions, remember?"
"That's ridiculous," she snapped. "You do. You've been angry, annoyed, and even amused once or twice since I've been here." And something else that also started with a, but she didn't really want to say that.
"I suggest you take it up with him, then. I missed the finer points of his emotional alterations. I was quite distracted by the searing pain." He took a drink, watching her over the rim of his glass.
"What did you look like? Before he...changed you." She wasn't sure where this was coming from, or why she was so determined to know about the man he had been before he became Sinister. "Could you show me?"
"Why do you want to see? I am not that man anymore, and it would do you well to remember that."
Something about his words made her flush. "I have done everything you asked me to do since I got here."
"That is what we agreed," he reminded her. "I have also upheld my end of our bargain. We owe each other nothing further."
"Fine," Rachel sighed, tired. "I'll put you neatly back into the box of villainous, soulless monster, since that is where you seem to determined to stay."
"It is only that this is what I am. There is no point in dwelling on what I once was."
She was surprised he'd answered. "You know, people have told me to stop living in the past. That I could get over all my anger if I'd just let it go. But it doesn't work that way. I can't escape what happened to me, and part of me will always carry it around with me. No matter what happens, even if the Phoenix burns what is left of me out or if I find a way of getting control over my emotions and my powers. What happens in the past shapes us and we carry it with us." She took a deep breath, realizing it was sounding very much like she were delivering a monologue. "You're Sinister, yeah, I get that. But you're Essex, too. And even if you hated who you were when you were Essex, it doesn't make it not true." She looked down at her plate.
"I did not hate myself," he said, and she looked up at him. His head was turned, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Suddenly, the image shifted and the man sitting across from her was no longer Sinister, but...Nathaniel Essex.
He looked much the same, though without the pale skin and the glowing eyes, and his forehead was unmarred. The clothing he'd put himself in to show her this projection was anachronistic--it was obviously Victorian dress--but the planes of his face were the same. "To the best of my recollection, this is what I looked like the last time I saw myself, before Apocalypse's machine altered my appearance." He met her gaze calmly.
Rachel stared at him, fascinated despite herself. "Your eyes. They're not green. They're blue. Really dark blue. Almost black." It was weird to see him with pupils. His eyes were beautiful. She wondered idly why she thought they looked better red. That couldn't mean anything good.
"I suppose they are. Are you satisfied now?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Wow. How long did it take you to figure out you could do that?"
"Several years. It comes in handy for disguising my identity if necessary, since I have distinctive features." He smiled at her. It looked no less warm just because she could see his eyes. The image was beginning to freak her out a bit. It was him, but it wasn't. Sinister swam just beneath, a shadow in his eyes. The same sardonic smile curved his mouth. "Disconcerting, yes?"
"Yeah." Something about his appearance was making her distinctly uncomfortable, and she realized it was because he was uncomfortable and was projecting his emotions. She was beginning to wonder if maybe he was completely clueless to the fact that he still had emotions. Apocalypse could tell him whatever, but Rachel knew emotions when she felt them. "If I ask you something, would you tell me the truth?"
"It would depend on the question."
At least he admitted it. "Do you hate what Essex looks like? I mean, you could look like this all the time. You don't, though. You prefer to look like...Sinister. Why?"
"Because it is who I am. This is only a projection, a psychically altered image. What point would I have to change my appearance? Though I imagine is it more pleasing to behold, it is not who I am."
That made sense to her, and she reached up and touched her fingers to her hound markings. "But you hate the man that did it to you."
"Oh, yes. But Rachel, you see, I triumphed in the end. I was the stronger of the two of us. Just as you were the stronger, in comparison to those who put that mark on your face." His features began to blur, transforming back into Sinister's pale visage. "I could force myself and others to see me as I was, but it would be a lie."
"But you don't care what people think," she reminded him.
"No. But if I am content with what he made me, then I rob him of his victory. Were I to revert back to the man I was before he changed me, then I admit that what he did to me is displeasing."
That made sense, sort of. "You're a lot more complicated than anyone thinks," she said bluntly.
"People are rarely one-dimensional. Even me."
Rachel nodded. "Thank you for showing me that."
"You are welcome. Are you finished?"
She nodded, and he used his telekinesis to clear the table. She went into the kitchen and did the dishes by hand, mainly because she needed to think and it gave her a few moments to do so. He brought in his glass, and set in the sink. "You do not have to do that."
"I know. I don't mind." Rachel found her heart was racing. He was standing very close to her; she could feel the press of his body behind hers, the heat of him, though they weren't touching. Heat coiled low in her stomach as she inhaled his scent and heard the vibration of his voice so close against her neck.
"As you wish," he said nonchalantly, turning to leave.
"If I drop my shields around you, would you do the same? If I let my guard down and let you see into my head, I mean. Would you return the favor?" She scrubbed hard at one of the dishes, though it was in no way dirty enough to necessitate such a thing.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she admitted, rinsing the plate. "Never mind."
"I am shielding my thoughts out of practice, not because I am trying to hide anything. Though if you try something--"
"Hello, I would've done it by now," Rachel pointed out, rinsing his glass from earlier. It had the remnants of something alcoholic in it. And here she'd thought it was just water. "Hey, where're you hiding the wine?"
"It is port. There is some in the sideboard in the dining room. Help yourself if you would like some." He was leaning against the doorway, in a pose that looked more casual and relaxed than she gathered he was feeling. "I have some gin somewhere, too, though I've not had any since...possibly the early nineteen hundreds? It may not be any good."
"That's okay. I got drunk once on gin. I hate the stuff." She finished drying the dishes, and he left her alone in the kitchen. She wondered why she should care that he seemed so ambivalent to her, and decided to have a glass of port and read her book and forget about it. She took her glass of wine and her book and went to the morning room. After a few sips she deduced she didn't like it all.
This stuff is awful. How do you drink it? she thought, tentatively sending her thoughts to him.
In the normal fashion.
Haha! Sinister, you're so very funny.
I am only answering your question. If you dislike it, get rid of it or I shall finish it. It makes no difference to me.
Rachel went to the study, where Sinister was reading a book at his desk. "Here. It's awful. Totally supervillain appropriate." She set it in front of him, then looked down at the book he was reading. It was something very new, a science book about the human genome. "Though reading that and drinking might put you to sleep."
"I highly doubt it." He looked up from the book and studied her curiously. "You may read in here, if you wish. The fire keeps this room more insulated than the others and it is not as cold. Just do not chatter at me."
"I don't chatter," Rachel said, irritated, but she sat down on the admittedly more comfortable chair and used her telepathy to bring her book to her. They read in companionable silence, though to her surprise, he muttered things at the book while he was reading. She had no idea what he was talking about, but it was still sort of funny.
Rachel actually fell asleep while sitting there. It bothered her a little that she felt comfortable enough in his presence to do so. She dozed off, and was having a nice dream involving shopping and possibly chocolate. It might have stayed that way, except that something about the way the fire threw shadows on the wall pulled a memory of the camps from her subconscious.
The dream rapidly tumbled into a nightmare, and she was being led on her hands and knees to a warehouse. They made her carry a canister of gasoline and when they found the family hidden inside, they made her pour it over terrified, frightened mutants. Then they handed her a match. Light'em up, hound, and watch them burn. Do the kids first so the parents can see.
She woke up bathed in sweat, gasping, a blanket tangled around her. "No. God." Without thinking, she used her powers and doused the fire. The tangle of the blanket reminded her of her hated leash and she threw it off, leaping to her feet.
"Calm down, now. You just had a nightmare." Sinister was suddenly behind her, though she had no idea where he'd come from.
"I fucking hate this," Rachel whispered, her voice sounding strangled. "I was just dreaming. It was fine. Why can't it just be fine?"
He was the last person to offer her any sort of comfort, and part of her was relieved that he didn't try. She was startled, however, to feel his hands rest on her shoulders. He had cold hands but she felt the burn of his touch all the way through her shirt. She looked over her shoulder at him as he squeezed his hands, and she gave a little start when she realized what he was doing. He was rubbing her shoulders. Her entire body stiffened. "You don't--I mean, I'm not all worked up."
"You are so tense, it is a wonder you can relax at all." His massage was more painful than anything, as he was pushing very hard against the knotted muscles of her shoulders. She had no idea what had motivated this unexpected gesture on his behalf.
"You aren't really relaxed either," she tossed back, but without much heat. She leaned back, just a little, a sign she was clearly enjoying his touch. She probably didn't want to know what it was that was making him tense.
"No, Rachel, you probably do not," he responded immediately to her unspoken thought. The rhythmic press of his fingers continued, and she could hear him breathing behind her, and his thumbs pressed into the knots on the nape of her neck. She winced at the pain of it and breathed through it, concentrating on how good it would feel when he stopped.
She looked back over her shoulder at him and sucked in a breath at the look on his face, and the slight trickle of awareness she could feel growing between them. "I don't need you to hurt me." She was trembling a little from his proximity and the sensation of his hands on her, and the knowledge of how very much she wanted him to touch her.
"I know. However, would you like me to anyway?" His breath stirred the hairs on the nape of her neck; shuddering tingles of pleasure raced down on her spine at the feel of it.
Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She gave a little shiver and said carefully, "Kind of. I mean." She felt confused. He was too close to her. The air was heavy between them, and she caught him off guard and shoved her mind at his, frustrated by her inability to know what it was he wanted while he continued to badger her about it all the time.
He hissed and his hands tightened on her shoulders. For a moment she thought he was going to push her away, but he didn't. The air was pregnant with tension, close to the breaking point. He pulled her back against him and simultaneously moved forward, towards his desk. "Do not go looking for things unless you are certain you want to see them." His hands slid down over her arms and curled around hers, and then he pulled her arms away from her body and slammed her hands on the desk in front of her, palms-down.
Rachel was finding it hard to catch her breath. Her body felt like it was buzzing. He was dangerously intent upon her, which was both thrilling and terrifying. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Make me forget my nightmare." Her voice was caught between pleading and aroused.
Sinister was staring at her like he was going to consume her. "Ask me nicely." His hands were on her hips, and she pushed herself back towards him. He stilled her, fingers biting cruelly into her skin.
"Nathaniel, please," she gasped, dropping her head. This wrong, and she shouldn't want it, but she didn't care. The tension was at a breaking point and she needed release, and she needed him to give it to her. "Please."
He yanked her back up against him with a hand in her hair, and she cried out at the sudden violence and the unfamiliar sensation of being completely pressed against him. She could feel his breath, hot on her neck, as he undid the buttons of her jeans with his hand. Last time he had done this through her clothing; this time, he slid his hand inside her panties and pressed his fingers against her bare flesh.
She could tell from his unguarded thoughts that he liked this; liked restraining her, liked how hot her skin felt against his fingers. She didn't even realize she was tossing her head and whimpering until she saw in his mind how much he liked that, too. The room was quiet, broken only by the sound of their harsh breathing, and his fingers were cold but felt so good against her, and she was wet and she could feel him behind her, and Rachel could barely stand her knees were weakened by pleasure and fear and want--
His free hand slid up and roughly grabbed her breasts. "Would you like to come?"
Somehow, knowing he was almost dangerously aroused and yet hearing his voice, so calm and cool, was making her all the more frantic. "Yes. God. Please." She was pushing against his fingers, and she didn't care anymore who he was or who she was, or why this was wrong. All she cared about right now was the pleasure that hovered just outside of her reach, and she needed...
He bit her neck, which she didn't expect, and the pain coupled with the pleasure of his hand between her legs sent her careening over the edge. She threw her head back and moaned, loudly, and the windowpanes rattled as her body writhed and arched. All the while, he kept her restrained and pressed against him, and when it was over she was glad for it as she barely had the strength to remain standing. They were both breathing hard. Rachel looked at him and noticed that, despite the fact she hadn't thought it possible, his face was a bit flushed.
Slowly he removed his hand from between her legs. Her neck hurt where he'd bitten her. Rachel re-fastened her jeans and moved away from him. "I--" She didn't know what to say. Her eyes were very wide. She wondered what was going to happen next. Her eyes touched on the desk, thought about how she'd braced her palms on it before, and what he could do to her if she were to take that position again.
He did the last thing she expected.
He left. He didn't leave the room, he just...vanished. Teleported somewhere, away from her.
Rachel was left standing in the library, confused and still aroused, wondering why even a madman didn't want her.
Chapter 9
Author: Sionnain
'Verse: 616, though occurs before current Uncanny arc and will obviously be AU.
Pairing: Rachel Grey/Nathaniel Essex (Rachel/Sinister)
Rating: MA
Warning: Naughtiness in this chapter, but there are no warnings.
Summary: In order to save her family and friends from Sinister's machinations, Rachel Grey decides to do something daring and agrees to stay with him for a month's time, in the hopes he'll finally leave her and her family alone for good.
AN: Many thanks to Resolute for the beta, and Willowaus for cheerleading me through :)
To read from the beginning: Chapter 1. (Includes brief background on the characters if you'd like to read but are unsure who the heck these people are!)
Chapter 8
"Ah, it's an ill conscience that's such an enemy to rest! Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed in every step of it!"--Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Chapter 8.
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"Why did the Phoenix want me? For the host? Do you have any idea?"
Sinister looked up from his notes, across from where Rachel sat on her usual perch in his laboratory; the metal table. "I assume initially it was because you are a descendant of the original host."
"Initially?" Rachel kicked her heels against the metal table. Her back was healing but it was still a little sore. He'd whipped her hard enough with the belt buckle that it had bruised the muscle beneath, and the occasional twinge was relaxing. "What do you mean by that?"
"You are extraordinarily powerful, Rachel. I would assume that the being was pleased by your other attributes."
Rachel was startled at that. "Yeah? Like what?"
He smiled. "Fishing for compliments, are we?"
"Sinister, I am here so you can study me, remember? I just want to know," she said defensively, raking a hand through her hair. And so maybe I don't feel so worthless when I compare myself to my mother.
"The Phoenix, as I have figured it, is attracted to you for your genetic link to your mother, certainly. And your potential, I would imagine."
"My...potential? Isn't that the same as my powers?"
Sinister shook his head and rose from where he was seated. "No. You have an incredible amount of untapped power that, quite frankly, you are not using. On the one hand, you are afraid of your own abilities, and on the other, they are often uncontrollable and do not behave as you would wish." At her glare, he gave a Gallic shrug. "You did ask."
"So the Phoenix likes me because I'm unstable?"
"Where there is instability, there is the potential for stability," Sinister responded. "And you have quite the survival instinct, as we've discussed. You are willing to do what must be done to ensure your own survival. I assume the Phoenix finds this an attractive quality for its host."
Something about that sounded like an insult. "So I'm selfish, a little wacky, and powerful. Wow. Gee, I can sure see why I'm such a perfect package."
"No. You do not see that at all." He laughed. "You think the Phoenix amplifies your powers, gives you control. Therefore you give it more attention, allow it to surface more, feed it energy. It is a symbiotic relationship. That means--"
"I took biology, thanks," Rachel interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And my mother knew how to hold it at bay. So if I could learn how to control my powers, then I could keep the Phoenix from consuming me. Or whatever it wants."
"Theoretically, yes."
Rachel thought about that. "I...after we....after you hurt me. I tend to be able to use it better, with more control. My TK, at least."
Sinister nodded. "Yes, I have noticed that. And your telepathy, have you noticed it was stronger as well?"
She thought about that, about how she was able to pick up things from him. "I don't know. You block your thoughts from me a lot, so I don't know if when I catch something, it's something you wanted me to catch and that's the only reason you're letting me see it at all."
Infuriatingly, he didn't clarify that. "Then what is the conclusion you have drawn?"
"Well, Professor Essex, I'd say that if I can control myself, then my powers don't go all wonky. Sound about right?"
"I am unsure as to the exact meaning of wonky, but I shall use the context clues and say, yes, I believe that sounds correct. Your powers are unstable because you do not trust yourself. You do not trust yourself, because you think you are worthless, are filled with anger, and therefore can hardly concentrate on anything besides your own inner turmoil." He was standing directly in front of her now. "Does that sound about right?"
"Yeah." Rachel gave him an unfriendly look. "So what do I do about it? Slam my hand in a door every time I need to use my powers?"
"That would not work. Your masochistic tendencies notwithstanding, you have a psychological need for punishment. Therefore, you only seem to find that center of calm when such punishment is administered by an outside source, to the extent which you feel you are suitably chastised."
"What, so you're a mad psychologist now, too?" she groused, looking away from him, feeling ashamed at how closely his little spiel mirrored what she was feeling.
"Are you honestly going to tell me that I am wrong, Rachel?"
Rachel looked back at him and slowly shook her head. "No. I guess I'm not. Are we done?" She could feel the familiar worthlessness swirl in the pit of her stomach. See, you're a freak and you'll never be good enough--
Sinister grabbed her hair, hard, and pulled. "Stop that. I am trying to have a discussion with you and I do not have time for this mantra of self-pity by which you are so easily distracted." He slapped the side of her face.
Rachel's head snapped back, then she used her powers to force him back and away from her, flipping the metal table over and pinning him back against the wall while she leaped gracefully to the side.
Sinister clapped appreciatively. "Case in point." He returned the table to its proper position and re-arranged the items she'd dislodged when she'd moved it. Rachel stayed where she was, hating him that he'd been right. A few weeks ago, that little maneuver may or may not have worked. Now, she hadn't even thought about whether it would or not.
"So what do I do about it? Hire someone to whip me when I come home at night?" Rachel laughed bitterly. "That'll go over well."
"I am not certain. You shall either have to find someone capable of hurting you as you require, or research alternate methods of exorcising all that anger and pent-up guilt until it no longer troubles you."
Rachel really couldn't figure out what those methods might be, but that's what the Internet was for, right? "And then what?" Rachel looked at him warily. "Then the Phoenix decides I'm ripe to be some destroyer of worlds?"
"Then perhaps you will learn to use the Phoenix force, instead of being used by it. You cannot control it if you cannot control yourself."
Rachel felt something stir in her, that burning-hot essence. "I think...maybe..." she swayed on her feet, nearly pitching forward. She felt herself levitating off of the floor, toes brushing the ground. Her eyes started to burn, and the world drowned in white.
"Your time grows shorter, Essex," the being said in its clarion voice, loud and resonant in the small confines of the laboratory.
"Yes, I am aware of that," Sinister responded carefully.
"You would teach her control of me, but I would have control of her."
"I am sure you would," Sinister murmured. "Rachel, can you hear me?"
Deep within the well of power where she waited, momentarily trumped by the other within, Rachel stirred. She could hear him fine, she just couldn't respond.
The Phoenix laughed. "It matters not what my host wishes for, Essex. If it is not my desire, she will not have it."
"I see. Fascinating. And what is it you want from her?"
Somewhere in the background of her mind, where Rachel was trapped, she noted that Essex was taking notes. It figured.
"A host. A place in which to dwell. You know these things, they are not revelations to you. Have you worked out the riddle from when we last spoke?"
"There was a riddle?"
If Rachel didn't know Sinister to be rather humorless, she would have thought that maybe he was joking. The Phoenix was displeased, and the entire laboratory seemed to glow with unearthly light. "Do not speak lightly to me, Essex. Your powers are infinitesimal compared to mine."
"I am quite aware of that, I assure you. Though I speak truthfully--I did not know there was a riddle I was to work out."
"You lie to yourself remarkably well. I shall leave you to ponder these mysteries, but be warned, you will not emerge unscathed from what you have wrought, here."
"You speak of the gift of Apocalypse that Rachel shall lay waste? Am I to assume she is to kill me?"
Rachel felt herself pushing forth as the Phoenix began to fade. "No. That is not the death of which I speak. You shall know it, when it comes to pass, and his legacy is broken." The Phoenix faded and Rachel slumped forward, catching herself on the table he'd righted. She looked at him warily. "I don't know what it means. Before you ask."
"I did not think that you did," he said simply, then turned. "Perhaps you should go amuse yourself. I have work to do."
Rachel didn't know why his abrupt dismissal stung, but it did. She paused for a moment on her way out, stopping with her hand on the door. "I won't kill you. It's not my way." And she didn't want him dead, though God only knew why she didn't. With that, she went back upstairs and headed to the library. It was time to find another book to read.
* * *
He was quiet during dinner, and while that wasn't unusual--he was hardly loquacious--there was something a bit...off...about him.
Rachel toyed with her food and wondered if she should ask him what was wrong. She didn't want to pry, really, but his behavior was making her nervous. A few times already she'd looked up and he'd been perfectly still, staring at her. Finally she'd demanded what it was he wanted. He'd blinked in surprise and told her he hadn't been looking at her at all. Rachel had muttered something about how annoying his pupil-less eyes were and gone back to her dinner.
She was a bit disturbed herself. What had the Phoenix meant about Apocalypse's legacy to Sinister? Rachel realized that her time here was running out--she had little less than a week left, if she was counting it right--and if something was going to go down, she wanted to know about it. "Do you--I mean, have you found out anything I should know? Like do I have some kind of genetic disease or something?"
"No. You are perfectly healthy."
Okay. So that conversation topic wasn't going to work. "Are you saving up some really awful genetic test for the last day or something?"
"No."
Rachel took a drink of her water and tried not to glare at him. Why did she really want to make small talk with him anyway? There was just something about his silence that was vaguely disapproving, and it was driving her mad. "Did I piss you off or something?"
"Not especially."
She waited for him to say something else, but he went back to staring at...whatever it was he was staring at. His mental shields were locked tight. Rachel threw her hands in the air. "Do you know how to have a conversation?"
"Was there something you wished to discuss?"
Frustrated, she glared across the table at him. "Sometimes you seem like a person. You know, the kind that has conversations with people at dinner, the kind who doesn't stare off into space and ignore the other person who's with him completely. It's like eating with a statue."
"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you." His food was mostly untouched on his plate. Rachel wondered what kind of things bothered a man like Sinister enough to make him lose his appetite.
"Damn it, Nathaniel," Rachel snapped, slamming her palm on the desk. "I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Can we not just pretend to be normal for thirty minutes and talk about something that isn't my bloodline or your being evil?"
"What did you call me?"
Startled by his icy tone, she stared at him. "What, Nathaniel? It's your name, isn't it?"
"It was, yes." His eyes narrowed. "I haven't used it as anything other than an alias for years."
"Well, it's still your name. I mean, I go by Rachel Grey now, though Summers is really my last name. So if someone called me that, I wouldn't get all creepy." She forked up a bite of her dinner, glad they were at least talking, even though he seemed rather angry.
"Do you wish for me to hit you again? If so, you do not have to make me angry. You only have to ask."
"I don't want you to hit me again," Rachel said slowly, thinking maybe it would have been better if they'd just stayed quiet.
"What is it you want, then?"
"What is it you want?" Rachel pointed her knife at him. "Really. Seriously. There has to be something."
"Apocalypse saw to it that I have no emotions, remember?"
"That's ridiculous," she snapped. "You do. You've been angry, annoyed, and even amused once or twice since I've been here." And something else that also started with a, but she didn't really want to say that.
"I suggest you take it up with him, then. I missed the finer points of his emotional alterations. I was quite distracted by the searing pain." He took a drink, watching her over the rim of his glass.
"What did you look like? Before he...changed you." She wasn't sure where this was coming from, or why she was so determined to know about the man he had been before he became Sinister. "Could you show me?"
"Why do you want to see? I am not that man anymore, and it would do you well to remember that."
Something about his words made her flush. "I have done everything you asked me to do since I got here."
"That is what we agreed," he reminded her. "I have also upheld my end of our bargain. We owe each other nothing further."
"Fine," Rachel sighed, tired. "I'll put you neatly back into the box of villainous, soulless monster, since that is where you seem to determined to stay."
"It is only that this is what I am. There is no point in dwelling on what I once was."
She was surprised he'd answered. "You know, people have told me to stop living in the past. That I could get over all my anger if I'd just let it go. But it doesn't work that way. I can't escape what happened to me, and part of me will always carry it around with me. No matter what happens, even if the Phoenix burns what is left of me out or if I find a way of getting control over my emotions and my powers. What happens in the past shapes us and we carry it with us." She took a deep breath, realizing it was sounding very much like she were delivering a monologue. "You're Sinister, yeah, I get that. But you're Essex, too. And even if you hated who you were when you were Essex, it doesn't make it not true." She looked down at her plate.
"I did not hate myself," he said, and she looked up at him. His head was turned, and she had no idea what he was thinking. Suddenly, the image shifted and the man sitting across from her was no longer Sinister, but...Nathaniel Essex.
He looked much the same, though without the pale skin and the glowing eyes, and his forehead was unmarred. The clothing he'd put himself in to show her this projection was anachronistic--it was obviously Victorian dress--but the planes of his face were the same. "To the best of my recollection, this is what I looked like the last time I saw myself, before Apocalypse's machine altered my appearance." He met her gaze calmly.
Rachel stared at him, fascinated despite herself. "Your eyes. They're not green. They're blue. Really dark blue. Almost black." It was weird to see him with pupils. His eyes were beautiful. She wondered idly why she thought they looked better red. That couldn't mean anything good.
"I suppose they are. Are you satisfied now?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Wow. How long did it take you to figure out you could do that?"
"Several years. It comes in handy for disguising my identity if necessary, since I have distinctive features." He smiled at her. It looked no less warm just because she could see his eyes. The image was beginning to freak her out a bit. It was him, but it wasn't. Sinister swam just beneath, a shadow in his eyes. The same sardonic smile curved his mouth. "Disconcerting, yes?"
"Yeah." Something about his appearance was making her distinctly uncomfortable, and she realized it was because he was uncomfortable and was projecting his emotions. She was beginning to wonder if maybe he was completely clueless to the fact that he still had emotions. Apocalypse could tell him whatever, but Rachel knew emotions when she felt them. "If I ask you something, would you tell me the truth?"
"It would depend on the question."
At least he admitted it. "Do you hate what Essex looks like? I mean, you could look like this all the time. You don't, though. You prefer to look like...Sinister. Why?"
"Because it is who I am. This is only a projection, a psychically altered image. What point would I have to change my appearance? Though I imagine is it more pleasing to behold, it is not who I am."
That made sense to her, and she reached up and touched her fingers to her hound markings. "But you hate the man that did it to you."
"Oh, yes. But Rachel, you see, I triumphed in the end. I was the stronger of the two of us. Just as you were the stronger, in comparison to those who put that mark on your face." His features began to blur, transforming back into Sinister's pale visage. "I could force myself and others to see me as I was, but it would be a lie."
"But you don't care what people think," she reminded him.
"No. But if I am content with what he made me, then I rob him of his victory. Were I to revert back to the man I was before he changed me, then I admit that what he did to me is displeasing."
That made sense, sort of. "You're a lot more complicated than anyone thinks," she said bluntly.
"People are rarely one-dimensional. Even me."
Rachel nodded. "Thank you for showing me that."
"You are welcome. Are you finished?"
She nodded, and he used his telekinesis to clear the table. She went into the kitchen and did the dishes by hand, mainly because she needed to think and it gave her a few moments to do so. He brought in his glass, and set in the sink. "You do not have to do that."
"I know. I don't mind." Rachel found her heart was racing. He was standing very close to her; she could feel the press of his body behind hers, the heat of him, though they weren't touching. Heat coiled low in her stomach as she inhaled his scent and heard the vibration of his voice so close against her neck.
"As you wish," he said nonchalantly, turning to leave.
"If I drop my shields around you, would you do the same? If I let my guard down and let you see into my head, I mean. Would you return the favor?" She scrubbed hard at one of the dishes, though it was in no way dirty enough to necessitate such a thing.
"Why?"
"I don't know," she admitted, rinsing the plate. "Never mind."
"I am shielding my thoughts out of practice, not because I am trying to hide anything. Though if you try something--"
"Hello, I would've done it by now," Rachel pointed out, rinsing his glass from earlier. It had the remnants of something alcoholic in it. And here she'd thought it was just water. "Hey, where're you hiding the wine?"
"It is port. There is some in the sideboard in the dining room. Help yourself if you would like some." He was leaning against the doorway, in a pose that looked more casual and relaxed than she gathered he was feeling. "I have some gin somewhere, too, though I've not had any since...possibly the early nineteen hundreds? It may not be any good."
"That's okay. I got drunk once on gin. I hate the stuff." She finished drying the dishes, and he left her alone in the kitchen. She wondered why she should care that he seemed so ambivalent to her, and decided to have a glass of port and read her book and forget about it. She took her glass of wine and her book and went to the morning room. After a few sips she deduced she didn't like it all.
This stuff is awful. How do you drink it? she thought, tentatively sending her thoughts to him.
In the normal fashion.
Haha! Sinister, you're so very funny.
I am only answering your question. If you dislike it, get rid of it or I shall finish it. It makes no difference to me.
Rachel went to the study, where Sinister was reading a book at his desk. "Here. It's awful. Totally supervillain appropriate." She set it in front of him, then looked down at the book he was reading. It was something very new, a science book about the human genome. "Though reading that and drinking might put you to sleep."
"I highly doubt it." He looked up from the book and studied her curiously. "You may read in here, if you wish. The fire keeps this room more insulated than the others and it is not as cold. Just do not chatter at me."
"I don't chatter," Rachel said, irritated, but she sat down on the admittedly more comfortable chair and used her telepathy to bring her book to her. They read in companionable silence, though to her surprise, he muttered things at the book while he was reading. She had no idea what he was talking about, but it was still sort of funny.
Rachel actually fell asleep while sitting there. It bothered her a little that she felt comfortable enough in his presence to do so. She dozed off, and was having a nice dream involving shopping and possibly chocolate. It might have stayed that way, except that something about the way the fire threw shadows on the wall pulled a memory of the camps from her subconscious.
The dream rapidly tumbled into a nightmare, and she was being led on her hands and knees to a warehouse. They made her carry a canister of gasoline and when they found the family hidden inside, they made her pour it over terrified, frightened mutants. Then they handed her a match. Light'em up, hound, and watch them burn. Do the kids first so the parents can see.
She woke up bathed in sweat, gasping, a blanket tangled around her. "No. God." Without thinking, she used her powers and doused the fire. The tangle of the blanket reminded her of her hated leash and she threw it off, leaping to her feet.
"Calm down, now. You just had a nightmare." Sinister was suddenly behind her, though she had no idea where he'd come from.
"I fucking hate this," Rachel whispered, her voice sounding strangled. "I was just dreaming. It was fine. Why can't it just be fine?"
He was the last person to offer her any sort of comfort, and part of her was relieved that he didn't try. She was startled, however, to feel his hands rest on her shoulders. He had cold hands but she felt the burn of his touch all the way through her shirt. She looked over her shoulder at him as he squeezed his hands, and she gave a little start when she realized what he was doing. He was rubbing her shoulders. Her entire body stiffened. "You don't--I mean, I'm not all worked up."
"You are so tense, it is a wonder you can relax at all." His massage was more painful than anything, as he was pushing very hard against the knotted muscles of her shoulders. She had no idea what had motivated this unexpected gesture on his behalf.
"You aren't really relaxed either," she tossed back, but without much heat. She leaned back, just a little, a sign she was clearly enjoying his touch. She probably didn't want to know what it was that was making him tense.
"No, Rachel, you probably do not," he responded immediately to her unspoken thought. The rhythmic press of his fingers continued, and she could hear him breathing behind her, and his thumbs pressed into the knots on the nape of her neck. She winced at the pain of it and breathed through it, concentrating on how good it would feel when he stopped.
She looked back over her shoulder at him and sucked in a breath at the look on his face, and the slight trickle of awareness she could feel growing between them. "I don't need you to hurt me." She was trembling a little from his proximity and the sensation of his hands on her, and the knowledge of how very much she wanted him to touch her.
"I know. However, would you like me to anyway?" His breath stirred the hairs on the nape of her neck; shuddering tingles of pleasure raced down on her spine at the feel of it.
Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She gave a little shiver and said carefully, "Kind of. I mean." She felt confused. He was too close to her. The air was heavy between them, and she caught him off guard and shoved her mind at his, frustrated by her inability to know what it was he wanted while he continued to badger her about it all the time.
He hissed and his hands tightened on her shoulders. For a moment she thought he was going to push her away, but he didn't. The air was pregnant with tension, close to the breaking point. He pulled her back against him and simultaneously moved forward, towards his desk. "Do not go looking for things unless you are certain you want to see them." His hands slid down over her arms and curled around hers, and then he pulled her arms away from her body and slammed her hands on the desk in front of her, palms-down.
Rachel was finding it hard to catch her breath. Her body felt like it was buzzing. He was dangerously intent upon her, which was both thrilling and terrifying. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Make me forget my nightmare." Her voice was caught between pleading and aroused.
Sinister was staring at her like he was going to consume her. "Ask me nicely." His hands were on her hips, and she pushed herself back towards him. He stilled her, fingers biting cruelly into her skin.
"Nathaniel, please," she gasped, dropping her head. This wrong, and she shouldn't want it, but she didn't care. The tension was at a breaking point and she needed release, and she needed him to give it to her. "Please."
He yanked her back up against him with a hand in her hair, and she cried out at the sudden violence and the unfamiliar sensation of being completely pressed against him. She could feel his breath, hot on her neck, as he undid the buttons of her jeans with his hand. Last time he had done this through her clothing; this time, he slid his hand inside her panties and pressed his fingers against her bare flesh.
She could tell from his unguarded thoughts that he liked this; liked restraining her, liked how hot her skin felt against his fingers. She didn't even realize she was tossing her head and whimpering until she saw in his mind how much he liked that, too. The room was quiet, broken only by the sound of their harsh breathing, and his fingers were cold but felt so good against her, and she was wet and she could feel him behind her, and Rachel could barely stand her knees were weakened by pleasure and fear and want--
His free hand slid up and roughly grabbed her breasts. "Would you like to come?"
Somehow, knowing he was almost dangerously aroused and yet hearing his voice, so calm and cool, was making her all the more frantic. "Yes. God. Please." She was pushing against his fingers, and she didn't care anymore who he was or who she was, or why this was wrong. All she cared about right now was the pleasure that hovered just outside of her reach, and she needed...
He bit her neck, which she didn't expect, and the pain coupled with the pleasure of his hand between her legs sent her careening over the edge. She threw her head back and moaned, loudly, and the windowpanes rattled as her body writhed and arched. All the while, he kept her restrained and pressed against him, and when it was over she was glad for it as she barely had the strength to remain standing. They were both breathing hard. Rachel looked at him and noticed that, despite the fact she hadn't thought it possible, his face was a bit flushed.
Slowly he removed his hand from between her legs. Her neck hurt where he'd bitten her. Rachel re-fastened her jeans and moved away from him. "I--" She didn't know what to say. Her eyes were very wide. She wondered what was going to happen next. Her eyes touched on the desk, thought about how she'd braced her palms on it before, and what he could do to her if she were to take that position again.
He did the last thing she expected.
He left. He didn't leave the room, he just...vanished. Teleported somewhere, away from her.
Rachel was left standing in the library, confused and still aroused, wondering why even a madman didn't want her.
Chapter 9